


My Ill-Fated Friend

by PlayingChello



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, SO, Some angst, This was gonna be fluff, and then it got, major spoilers for 3.3, post 3.3, strangely angsty?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7780306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really thought he was going to have to kill him.</p>
<p>The thought wrecks Aymeric’s insides. He was prepared. He was ready to kill this man. The man he cares so much for. All in the service of his country. His duty to Ishgard. He was ready to let his duty take precedence over his friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Ill-Fated Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I ship these two far harder than is probably healthy. Anyway. Here.
> 
> Twitter: @PlayingChello

He remembers coming upon that scene, seeing the carnage, seeing Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light standing there over the body of his beloved friend. All he wanted to do was run to him, see if he was even alive. But he had a duty, and the danger was not yet gone.

“The eyes! Cast them into the abyss!”

He remembers so clearly leaning over the dragoon, covered in dragon’s blood, and being overwhelmingly overjoyed to find he still drew breath.

_My ill-fated friend_.

He remembers carrying him to the healers. Remembers simply being glad to have him back once more. Remembers the weight of him in his arms and being able to see the rise and fall of his chest beneath his armour, albeit weakly.

And then the hours, _hours_ , of waiting by his bedside. Unable to leave and terrified that he may never wake. Terrified that his chest would stop moving up and down gently and terrified that he would lose the colour in his skin. There was a time or two in which he even let his hand run through long white hair.

But the thing Aymeric remembers most of all and will never ever forget, is the moment Estinien opened his eyes. The moment he chastised Alphinaud for crying at his bedside. Having to act cool and collected in front of his friends even though he, too, wanted to break down and cry at the miracle. The way Estinien brushed away his apologies for his words.

And his admonition of his title of Azure Dragoon.

\--

Despite the constant pull of politics and the changing of the state of Ishgard during this transitive time, Aymeric still finds time to visit Estinien each day. The man sleeps much of the time, but that’s fine with him. He needs his sleep. And Aymeric is more than happy to sit quietly at his bedside to watch over him.

More often than not, Aymeric sends away the chirurgeon on duty, promising to call if anything in Estinien’s condition changes. He likes to be alone with him, hear the sounds of his breathing, to run fingers through his hair. Just to confirm that he’s still here, real, _alive_.

He really thought he was going to have to kill him.

The thought wrecks Aymeric’s insides. He was prepared. He was ready to kill this man. The man he cares so much for. All in the service of his country. His duty to Ishgard. He was ready to let his duty take precedence over his friend.

Friend.

And that’s all they are, isn’t it? Despite the way Aymeric has looked at Estinien since they were Temple Knights together. The way Aymeric dreams of Estinien in less than innocent ways.

Aymeric has poured over his feelings for Estinien. When he first recognised them, he tried to deny it. There was a period of time where he ignored Estinien and hoped that would dissuade his heart. But it only made it hurt. A deep painful longing hurt.

So rather than avoid him, Aymeric had chosen to keep him close as a friend, but never reveal his feelings. Both for fear they wouldn’t be reciprocated, and for fear that they would. As a Temple Knight, Aymeric has kept himself away from the distractions of the heart. He threw himself into his duty for Ishgard.

And it almost cost him Estinien.

It’s the day of his joining the House of Lords and Aymeric, instead of doing the mountain of paperwork on his desk or speaking to one of the many people he has to deal with, he’s sitting at Estinien’s bedside. It’s been a few days since he was brought back from Nidhogg’s hold and he has been spending more of his time awake.

And it just so happens that he wakes while Aymeric is there.

“How are you feeling, my friend?”

Estinien’s head turns to Aymeric and a soft smile turns his lips, “Very well, considering.”

Aymeric offers him a smile in return, “The healers say you could be well enough to leave soon.”

Before responding, Estinien pushes himself to sitting, “I am well enough now.”

“Estinien, please. Wait for the healer…” But Aymeric’s protests fall on deaf ears. Estinien is already throwing the blanket back and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“I seem to recall you never waited for a healer when Ishgard called for your aid while you were hurt,” Estinien grits as he stands. Aymeric stands to help him, but he’s shaken off after a moment of hesitation. Estinien straightens himself before going over to the window where his helmet and lance lie. Aymeric watches him stare at the piece, tense, before taking the lance and leaving the helmet. It hurts to watch him struggle.

“Estinien…” Aymeric says, too quietly to really be a strong protest.

The dragoon looks at him almost harshly. Almost as if a hint of Nidhogg’s rage still runs within him. “I have things to do, Aymeric. Things much more important than sitting in this bed for days on end.”

Aymeric looks at him hard and all the feelings he’s held for the man bubble to the surface. He has an intense urge to walk forward and just… hold him. He wants to feel their bodies pressed together and to smell the scent of his skin.

But he can’t.

“At least… At least stay today. I would be much obliged if you were to attend the ceremony this afternoon.”

Estinien studies him for a long moment and Aymeric finds himself staring at his mouth. The curve of his lips. They look dry, like he could use a fair bit of water. Maybe some wine. Maybe something else.

“I am sure I can find the time to support you, my friend.”

Estinien’s voice nearly startles Aymeric, but the words ‘my friend’ from him sound so pleasant. Almost sweet. Almost as if they hide something deeper. But that’s probably only Aymeric’s hopeful imagination.

A long moment of silence in which Aymeric simply stares at the dragoon passes before he realises the room has become somewhat awkward. “Well, I should be on my way then. You should rest.”

Once more, Estinien studies him. He even goes so far as to cock his head slightly to the side. Aymeric almost hates the way he feels so vulnerable. He turns away to leave and to avoid the way Estinien stares into his soul.

“Aymeric.”

His name stops him. He doesn’t turn back, but he does stop. Footsteps, surprisingly light for someone of Estinien’s stature, approach and finally Aymeric feels a hand on his arm. The touch is entirely innocent but he can’t help but sigh at the contact.

And then he hears the softest chuckle.

“I thought so.”

It’s this that finally turns Aymeric back to Estinien, looking utterly confused. “Wha-?”

He’s not even able to finish the word before Estinien assaults every one of his senses simultaneously. His scent fills his nostrils, his hair tickles his face, all he can see are his closed eyes.

And his lips.

His lips are softer than he would have thought. Chapped, yes. In need of a few more days of drinking normally. Maybe some salve. But they’re still so soft. Aymeric makes a small sound, almost a whimper, into the kiss. The kiss he’s wanted for _years_. And Estinien…

He pulls back, “What are you doing?”

Estinien cocks a brow. “Do not think I haven’t noticed how you look at me.”

Aymeric goes to respond, but he can’t find the words. There’s no denying it now. Not after… _that_. So instead, he only reaches up and threads his fingers through silver hair and pulls the other man back into him, hungry to taste those lips once more.

This time, it’s Estinien that pulls back, after a considerable time. He licks his lips with the barest hint of a smirk. “I will be back for you.” And with the way his fingers absently pet at Aymeric’s ear, Aymeric can’t even process the words enough to protest.

And then he’s gone.


End file.
